One Flew into the Cuckoo's Nest
by Chaotic Demon
Summary: When a strange murder occurs in a mental hospital, Shawn is more than ready to go undercover. However, when no one believes his psychic visions, he not only has to figure out how to escape, but how to live long enough to try.
1. Psycho

Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or Psycho or anything else.

A response to the "Psycho" challenge.

The power cord to my laptop melted and I'm not getting a new one until next week. Since all the outlines and notes for my other stories are on that computer, I bring you this fic, written on my brother's computer. Enjoy.

I'm one of those strange people that's actually seen Psycho. Therefore, I'm here to tell you that it actually takes place in my home state of Arizona. I hope that helps you to understand the flashback.

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Santa Barbara, 1987

Shawn watched in horror as the scene unfolded before him. The blonde woman was backlit with light leaking through the motel shower curtain behind her. She was pleasantly oblivious to the approaching danger, but he knew better. His rapid heartbeat mingled for a moment with the sound of running water. Suddenly, but not altogether unexpectedly, a large shadow blocked the light and pulled back the curtain. He and the woman screamed in unison. As the chocolate syrup blood trickled lazily down the drain, Shawn decided that he was never, ever going to Arizona.

Santa Barbara, 2008

It was a strange image from the cameras that lured Ralph Edgecumbe from his seat in the security room. One of the many small television screens lined up on the wall had shown a woman dressed in white wandering through the empty halls. When the figure disappeared from the screen and failed to reappear on another, the security officer decided to go searching for her.

As he walked throughout the facility, the cameras kept running. Eventually, he made his way up a set of stairs. The distant screams of the more disturbed residents distracted him for a moment. It was then that the figure of a woman, clad in white, emerged from a nearby doorway with a knife held high above her head. With a sudden burst of speed, she pounced.

The knife flashed red in the dim lighting as it plunged in and out of his chest. His screams and gurgling gasps were lost in the symphony of maddened cries. Throughout it all, a camera was steadily rolling in the corner.

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	2. The Vanishing

This chapter gave me hell…

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Ever since the Scary Sherry incident when he was little, Gus had never liked mental hospitals. Therefore, when the Becca Ulmer Mental Health Facility was added to his route, he was less than thrilled. The place looked nice enough with its red brick walls and clinging vines of ivy. However, the rumors of a recent murder did nothing to ease his nerves. It was with a bolstering breath that the salesman finally made his way inside the building.

The medley of patients and employees that greeted him inside made his guts squirm in apprehension. He closed his eyes for a few moments in a futile effort to make things less terrifying. After a mental mantra, he opened his eyes to see another pair less than three inches from his own. He screamed.

"Dude. Relax, Gus." Shawn simply stared at his friend with a raised eyebrow. "You're not still scared of Scary Sherry, are you? Remember Dad telling us that never happened?"

Gus simply glared at his friend. "What are you doing here?" he huffed. Suddenly, struck be a sudden bout of suspicion, he asked, "You didn't sneak a look at my day planner, did you? How many times are you going to invade my privacy?"

"I've never looked in your day planner. Give my investigative skills a little more credit, will you?"

Gus opened his mouth to reply, but Shawn cut him off. "That's not important right now." He paused for a moment, glancing around in over-emphasized suspicion, before continuing in a very loud stage whisper, "I'm under cover."

A brief perusal of the entrance room revealed a surprising lack of concern on the part of the doctors. It was almost as if they considered Shawn harmless. Obviously, they didn't know better.

"Undercover?" Gus asked, wondering exactly when he was going to be admitted to the hospital as well. With the way his life operated, it was far overdue.

In response, Shawn took a well worn newspaper clipping from his pocket and shook it in front of his face. Despite the wild movements, Gus managed to read a few words. "What does an increase in tariffs of Peruvian pineapples have to do with anything?"

A puzzled expression crossed the psychic's face as he examined the article. "Wrong article," he stated after a moment, reaching into another pocket to retrieve a different clipping. This time, Gus managed to snag it from his grasp before Shawn could wave it in his face.

The words "Security Officer Murdered in Mental Health Facility" dominated the headline. Further drawing his attention to the phrase were Shawn's numerous scribbles pointing towards it. Squinting a bit to see through the doodles, he read through the rest of the article. His stomach seemed to drop. He could see where this was going.

"Please tell me I don't have to go undercover as well," he entreated.

Shawn merely snorted in disdain. "Of course not. I'll need someone on the outside." Then, spotting an audience, he proceeded to whistle a remarkably poor rendition of the Mission Impossible Theme, throwing himself against the wall in feigned stealth. A smattering of applause came from the congregation, and one particularly confused individual yelled for Stalin to move his spaceship.

Gus hung his head with a groan. "We're going to die," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Don't be a Gloomy Gus, Gus!" Here, Shawn took a moment to ponder his choice of phrase. Suddenly, he glanced at his bare wrist and, declaring, "we're late," skipped off down the hall, leaving Gus to follow in his wake.

After traversing a maze of corridors, the duo finally stopped at a door. On the outside was a colorful, handmade sign proudly declaring "Shawn Spencer and Tom Jitter." To Gus' horror, the "I" was dotted with a pineapple sketch.

Heedless of his friend's dismay, Shawn threw the door open. "Hi, Tom!"

A mousy man sat alarmingly close to a television. On screen, a sponge was talking to a squid. Without removing his eyes from the scene in front of him, he tossed the psychic a pineapple fruit cup. "SpongeBob sends his regards," he murmured.

The salesman gave his friend a questioning look. Shawn explained, "This is Tom. He thinks TV shows contain hidden messages that tell him what to do."

"Delusions of reference?" Gus tried to clarify, but Shawn was already viciously attacking the fruit cup. This was going to be a long case…

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Question of the Day: Why is "SpongeBob" in my word processor's spell check dictionary?


	3. Session 9

Another chapter done!

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Somewhere in the corner of the room, a clock ticked steadily. Dr. McCatharty was eying him from the opposite chair, pen poised above his file in order to make notes. In response, Shawn merely whistled a tuneless song. After a few moments, the psychiatrist spoke. "So, you're psychic?"

"Yep." Shawn watched as the other man jotted down a note. From the time it took him to write, the man seemed to be recording more than his answer.

"What led you to believe that you're psychic?" The man asked, pen never leaving the page.

"I have visions: the past, the present, the future. I can also see spirits, and I often allow my body to be used as a receptacle for their earthy woes so that they may pass on."

"That sounds like something out of a bad sci-fi movie."

Fortunately for Shawn's credibility, he did not have the decency to blush. "Unfortunately, the inner workings of abilities such as mine are too much for a normal person to grasp. Those movies demonstrate the most sense they are able to make of them."

All was quiet for a moment as Dr. McCatharty wrote more in the file. Shawn watched patiently until he recognized the swirl of the pen writing a familiar word. "Hey! I'm not an egomaniac!"

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It wasn't often that Allison Ackart was able to take a shower at night. She was technically supposed to be in bed, where the doctors could supervise her and make sure that nothing ignitable made its way into her hands. However, she had managed to slip out while they were distracted with another patient. Stepping under the spray of hot water, she failed to notice the shadow on the other side of the glass door and the knife it held in its hand.

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